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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones everyone!)
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He then picked up the sacks and put it across his right shouder, before then he bid Adrienne farewell, with Lupin offering a cheerful yip goodbye, and then headed straight toward Dragonsreach. It was time to collect the bounty from Adrienne's father, the steward of Whiterun, Proventus Avenicci.
Aerion secured the now empty sacks back into his inventory after he ensures no one looked at his direction, the sudden absence of weight feeling like a gentle lift in his spirit as much as a relief to his muscles.
The day was easing into that rich, warm period between late afternoon and dusk, painting Whiterun's wooden structures in long, golden streaks.
The market square, usually a chaotic hub of shouting merchants and bustling customers, was less frantic now. The vendors were beginning to pack up, covering their wares with tarps or bundling them into carts, but a few stalwarts remained, hoping to catch the final stragglers on their way home.
It was here, among the settling dust and the smell of fresh bread and drying hides, that Aerion's attention snagged. Just past Belethor's General Goods, near where the path branched toward the city's heart, an attractive stall was still open.
It was laden with colorful produce, crisp green cabbages, baskets of bright red apples, and bulging sacks of grain. Standing behind the stall was a woman, an Imperial, tall and strikingly beautiful even in the unflattering light, along with a small, inquisitive girl sitting quietly on a stool beside her.
Aerion immediately identified her as Carlotta Valentia and the child as her daughter, Mila Valentia.
His steps slowed, not because of infatuation, but because of a peculiar internal response that had become common since his transmigration.
The sheer objective quality of her beauty was undeniable, her dark hair was pinned back neatly, emphasizing a strong, elegant jawline, and her eyes, though currently focused on tidying a pile of rutabagas, held a certain sharp, world weary intelligence.
She possessed a kind of rugged grace that was often romanticized but rarely found among the laboring classes of Skyrim, a beauty that had clearly drawn the gaze of many a man, as evidenced by the recurring dialogue from her in the game about half of the man in the city.
It wasn't just the sight of her, but the immediate assessment that followed, a cold, analytical appraisal, divorced from romantic or physical interest. This was the insidious Altmer arrogance filtering through his brain, an inherent, deep seated belief in the superiority of the High Elves that his new body and racial mindset constantly pushed onto his consciousness.
He found himself appraising her physical form, her genetics, her potential value, with the detachment a scholar might use to examine a rare artifact. "A fine example of Imperial stock," the voice in his head mused, "strong, clean lines, highly reproductive viability."
He recognized the clinical nature of the thought, doesn't like its coldness, yet couldn't entirely silence it. He could contain his outward actions, control his facial muscles, but the innate judgmental disdain was a constant, tiring battle against his orignal modern sensibilities, which he have been suppressing and soon maybe he could control it.
As even though he doesn't like the thinking, he knew he needed the Altmer thinking to survive in Skyrim.
He simply paused, his gaze cool, steady, and unintentionally intense, cataloging the lines of her face and the careful way she handled her daughter.
Carlotta, accustomed to being stared at, felt the sudden pressure of his gaze. She was used to leering drunks, frustrated farmers, and the slightly pathetic annoying admiration of the town bard, Mikael, but this was different.
This gaze wasn't lustful or even particularly fascinated, it was like the meticulous inspection of a tax collector or a general, cold, clinical, and unnervingly thorough. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and in an impulse she couldn't suppress, she dropped the cabbage she was holding and looked directly at the High Elf newcomer.
"You!" she called out, her voice sharp and carrying in the quiet market air. "High Elf, with the fox. Do you mind?" She punctuated the question with a gesture, sweeping her hand dramatically to indicate her stall, her daughter, and then back to herself. "Stop staring at me like I'm a ledger entry. It's rude."
Aerion was genuinely startled. His composure, which he meticulously maintained to project the aloofness expected of his race, fractured slightly. He stopped dead in his tracks. Several nearby merchants and customers glanced over, recognizing Carlotta's usual fiery spirit.
He quickly collected himself, a small, controlled flush rising on his pale cheeks. He lowered the two sacks with a loud thump against the cobbled path, eliciting another confused yip from Lupin, and offered a precise, if somewhat wooden, apology.
"My apologies, madam," Aerion said, bowing his head slightly, trying to sound as sincere as his inner Altmer would permit. "That was indeed ill mannered of me. I was merely… surprised."
Carlotta crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her foot impatiently. "Surprised by what, exactly? A woman trying to earn a living in the market? I see that every day. Get on with it."
Aerion fumbled for a quick, plausible reason, grasping at the first thread of thought that had crossed his mind moments before. It was a terrible idea, and he knew it the second the words left his mouth, but the need for a quick cover story was paramount.
"I was surprised," he continued, adjusting the straps of the bags, "to see a parent bringing her own child to work with her at the market stall. Given the condition of a market in a city like Whiterun, and the general exposure to the various elements, it seems… counterintuitive to proper childcare."
Carlotta's eyes narrowed, going instantly from sharp annoyance to genuine, maternal offense. Her face tightened with defensive fury, and her posture became that of a lioness protecting her cub.
"Counterintuitive? You pretentious Altmer fool," she spat the words out, ignoring the gasp of an old woman nearby. "Don't you dare tell me how to raise my daughter! Mila is here because I teach her the value of hard work, and she is safer with me, under my eye, than she is alone back in that freezing little shack we call home while I work until sundown. She is my world. And as for danger, I'll take on any danger that comes near my stall myself! So you can take your opinions and your fancy robes, and you can mind your own business!"
Aerion let out a soft, rueful smile, immediately realizing the full depth of his error. His brain had presented a cold, academic observation, and his mouth had delivered it to a fiercely protective Imperial mother. He mentally slapped himself, this was the exact kind of cultural faux pas his "Altmer persona" constantly created.
He glanced around the immediate vicinity. The basket weaver across the way had stopped weaving, and a farmer was pretending very hard to be intensely interested in the cobblestones. The attention was uncomfortable, but he couldn't back down now without confirming he was just an arrogant, judgmental elf.
He raised both hands slowly, palms outward, a gesture of peace and surrender.
"Please, madam, my deepest apologies," Aerion said, his voice dropping to a calm, low register, using the practiced cadence to soothe the situation. "I genuinely did not mean to offend, and I take your anger as entirely justified. I spoke carelessly, and that is on me."
He met her furious gaze directly, letting the sincerity show, but quickly followed up with the necessary cultural explanation.
"When I said it, I was simply speaking my honest, immediate thought, with no intent to condemn or critique your choices as a mother. To be frank, this is my first time outside of the Aldmeri Dominion," he confessed, letting the surprise of his origin hang in the air. "I am used to the way my people speak and I constantly forget that not all people are accustomed to the way an Altmer speaks. We are a… difficult people, and I am learning the courtesies of Skyrim the hard way. I only meant to express surprise at the difference in customs."
Carlotta, hearing the confession and the unusual apology, most men who offended her simply stalked off or tried to argue, huffed, but the sharp tension in her shoulders eased slightly. The sheer absurdity of an Altmer admitting to being "difficult" was disarming. She still looked furious, but the fury was now laced with suspicion, rather than outright hatred.
It was then that the small girl, Mila, who had been sitting wide eyed through the whole exchange, saw her chance. She slipped off her stool and darted around her mother's skirt. She ran up to Aerion, her bright eyes fixed not on the tall, pale Elf, but on the small, cinnamon-colored creature waiting patiently by his ankle.
"Mister High Elf," Mila piped up, pointing an excited finger at the fox, "is that your dog? Or is it a cat? Can I pet him?"
Aerion looked down at Lupin, who had sat down obediently and was now tilting his head with an air of dignified curiosity at the little girl.
The sight of the child's innocent face and the genuine wonder in her eyes instantly melted Aerion's remaining stress. He smiled, a small, unguarded smile that looked surprisingly pleasant on his angular face.
"It's is a fox, little girl," Aerion replied, his voice gentle. "And yes, of course you may pet it. It's name is Lupin, and its is very friendly."
He knelt slowly, to be closer to her level. Mila giggled, a pure sound that seemed to banish the last vestiges of the argument. She cautiously held out a small hand, and Lupin, sensing her kind intent, gave a soft, happy yip and leaned it's head right into her palm, offering a gentle lick to her fingers.
Carlotta watched the interaction, the fierce anger slowly draining away, replaced by a residual tenseness and a touch of personal curiosity about the fox.
Aerion used this lull, this new, softer moment, to make his final, genuine attempt at reconciliation. He kept his hands near the ground, not moving too quickly, and spoke directly to Carlotta, but with a gaze focused on Mila and Lupin.
"Again, madam, I deeply regret my insensitivity," he said, using her name deliberately. "I see how diligently you work, and how well loved your daughter is. You are clearly a fantastic mother and a hard worker."
Carlotta stared at him, still slightly guarded, but the fire was gone. His apology, delivered while kneeling beside her daughter and being exceptionally gentle, was the most unusual thing she had experienced all month. She watched Mila bury her face into Lupin's soft fur, giggling uncontrollably. The fox was clearly well cared for.
He stood up, towering over her stall again, and glanced back at her. "You mentioned you work until sundown. That's a long day. Is the market usually this slow this late?"
Carlotta sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It is when the weather turns cold. And when Mikael starts hanging around. He scares off the good customers with his dreadful poetry." She rolled her eyes, the familiar annoyance returning, a safer topic than foreign manners.
"Mikael," Aerion repeated, tucking the name away. He'd read about the town's resident annoyance. "Ah yes the bard, yes. I take it that you don't like him form the way you speak of him?"
"Not liking him is an understatement," Carlotta muttered, leaning on the stall counter. "He follows me around like a sickly pup, thinking he'll wear me down with his terrible lute songs. Honestly, half the men in this city think that because I'm a widow, I'm desperate for a new husband, or worse. I'm just desperate to keep my daughter fed and warm, that's all."
She looked at Aerion, a silent challenge in her eyes. "They see a vulnerable woman. They don't see a woman who is doing her work."
Aerion nodded slowly, meeting her gaze with professional seriousness. This was the moment for a diplomatic investment. "I understand completely. You see, I am a scholar, and while Altmer are often aloof, we also recognize diligence and a good work. You have both. It is commendable."
He paused, then offered a slight, genuine smile. "Perhaps a good distraction is needed. A clear message that you are not to be trifled with. Something… less poetic than a bard's lute."
Carlotta shook her head, but she looked thoughtful. No need for all of that, just a good right hook is usually all it takes."
Aerion considered this. He knew that if he intervened, he would earn Carlotta's respect and a powerful future friend and ally, after all having more friends are beneficial for him in the current moment. But he couldn't openly fight a citizen of Whiterun, not before meeting the Jarl.
"I may be able to offer a temporary solution to the bard problem soon," Aerion hinted vaguely, picking up his sacks again. "I have a matter to attend to for Jarl Balgruuf now, but perhaps when I head back to my room at the tavern later this evening, and if I see the bard there, I might have a persuasive word with him. Consider it a late afternoon courtesy from one new Whiterun resident to a true staple of the city."
Carlotta's eyes softened completely now. The Altmer wasn't just arrogant, he was unexpectedly kind, in a strange, calculating way. "I wouldn't ask you to do that, high elf. I apologize for my harsh words earlier as well, my names Carlotta."
"No problem and ou didn't ask," Aerion corrected gently. "I offered. It's what I should do after what I have said and my names Aerion. Farewell, Carlotta. Farewell, Mila. Come Lupin."
Lupin, having received a final barrage of delighted pats from Mila, gave a last friendly yip and trotted quickly to Aerion's side. Aerion nodded to Carlotta, a gesture of respect this time, not merely a formality, and continued his ascent toward Dragonsreach.
Aerion and Lupin quickly left the market square and began the long climb up the various stairs and inclines leading to Dragonsreach, the great hall of Whiterun. The setting sun cast massive, jagged shadows from the fortress's buttresses.
He stepped through the great doors and into the main hall. The space was immense, filled with the soft roar of the central hearth fire and the murmur of courtiers and housecarls.
The guards here were less skeptical, likely already heard rumors of his successful bounty already or maybe just ignoring him completely, knowing that he couldn't do anything here.
He walked past the feasting area and straight up to the raised platform where Jarl Balgruuf the Greater sat upon his throne, flanked by his housecarl, Irileth, and his steward, Proventus Avenicci.
Proventus, a meticulous Imperial man who was Carlotta's father, was conferring with Irileth when Aerion approached, holding out the original bounty paper.
"Proventus Avenicci," Aerion addressed the steward formally. "I'm Aerion and I've come to report the completion of this bounty. Halted Stream Camp has been cleared of all bandits. They're no longer a threat to the roads or the farmers."
Proventus, who had the same shrewd eyes as his daughter but none of her fire, quickly took the paper, his expression moving from weary preoccupation to surprise.
He scanned the notice, then looked Aerion up and down, clearly impressed despite himself. "By the Divines, is this true? All of them? That camp was a persistent, vile menace! You have rendered a great service to Whiterun, traveler. A most astonishing feat for a single man."
He turned immediately toward the Jarl, bowing low. "My Jarl, this High Elf, Aerion, claims to have personally cleared the Halted Stream Camp of all bandits, fulfilling the bounty contract."
Jarl Balgruuf, a formidable, muscled Nord with a thick braid and a stern expression, rose from his throne. He descended a few steps, his gaze powerful and commanding.
"Is this true, Altmer?" Balgruuf's voice boomed slightly in the great hall. "A single man, a mage no less, clearing a bandit stronghold that has resisted our patrols for weeks? Irileth, is there any independent confirmation?"
Irileth, the Dark Elf housecarl, stepped forward, her hand resting near the hilt of her sword, her gaze sharp and assessing. "I haven't received any report from my scouts about the area, my Jarl. I was preparing a reconnaissance patrol for first light tomorrow. If he speaks true, it is unprecedented."
"It is, Jarl," Aerion affirmed, maintaining a composed, respectful posture. "The camp is clear, and the threat is neutralized, Lady Irileth could have her scouts check upon it tomorrow. The bodies are still there most likely and I have already disposed some of the weaponry to Adrienne at Warmaiden's."
Balgruuf studied him for a long moment, a genuine, powerful nod of respect entering his posture. "Then you have earned your reward, and the gratitude of this city, Aerion. You show a surprising bravery for a high born elf. Proventus, pay the man the full sum."
Proventus quickly returned to the steward's table and counted out the bounty gold before putting it into a a pouch, which was the standard sum of 250 Septims. Aerion took the coins, putting them inside his pocket while in truth he put them into his inventory.
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[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 160/160 Stamina: 140/140 Magicka: 240/240 Level: 10
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire/Lightning) (Level 21/22), Persuasion (Level 15), Smithing (Level 9), Sneak (Level 13), One Handed (Level 7), Restoration (Healing) (Level 7), Two Handed (Level 8), Lockpicking (Level 9), Archery (Level 7), & Alteration (Level 4)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Pouch = 330 Septims
1x Steel Dagger, Iron Shield, Long Bow, Potions of Minor Stamina, Philter of Lockpicking, Steel Warhammer, Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Copper and Onyx Circlet, Steel Mace, & Mammoth Tusk
2x Gold Garnet Rings, Gold Ring, & Scroll Of Fireball
3x Silver Garnet Rings, Silver Rings, Sapphire, & Amethyst
4x Lockpicks, Potions of Minor Magicka, & Ruby
6x Potions Of Minor Healing
8x Iron Arrows
Weight: 75 KG / 370 KG
Septims = 26,606